


Call Me Back

by Jenanigans1207



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, M/M, after good omens lockdown, aziraphale makes a phone call, it's just short and soft and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenanigans1207/pseuds/Jenanigans1207
Summary: “You didn’t call me back.” Aziraphale says in lieu of a greeting. He doesn’t need one, really, Crowley always knows it’s him when he answers. Proving his point, Crowley doesn’t balk on the other end of the line, doesn’t seem surprised by the call.He does seem a little surprised by Aziraphale’s words, though. “Was I supposed to?”“Well, yes, rather.” Aziraphale straightens the collar of his shirt, almost feeling silly. “At least, you always do.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 181
Collections: Good Omens Lockdown fics





	Call Me Back

**Author's Note:**

> So, of course I saw the Good Omens Lockdown as soon as it dropped this morning. And of course I couldn't just leave it alone!! This was originally written as a twitter thread which, I think, is the only reason it's so short. But it's my take on what happens after they hang up :)

Aziraphale stares at the phone, now silent on his table. It should’ve rang by now, he thinks. He lifts another bite of cake to his mouth, eyes glued to the receiver with a certain amount of determination, willing it to ring under his gaze. 

It remains silent.

Finally, after a few more minutes of this, he reaches the capacity of what he can take, setting his fork down gently on the plate and dabbing delicately at the corners of his mouth. He squares his shoulders and regards the phone again.

After a breath, he reaches for the phone, fingers dialing the number instinctively. In truth, it’s the only number he knows by heart, the only number he ever bothered to learn. The phone doesn’t even finish ringing once. “ ‘llo?”

“You didn’t call me back.” Aziraphale says in lieu of a greeting. He doesn’t need one, really, Crowley always knows it’s him when he answers.

Proving his point, Crowley doesn’t balk on the other end of the line, doesn’t seem surprised by the call. He does seem a little surprised by Aziraphale’s words, though. “Was I supposed to?”

“Well, yes, rather.” Aziraphale straightens the collar of his shirt, almost feeling silly. “At least, you always do.”

There’s better ways to describe how he’s feeling, he knows, but the words don’t want to come. He 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑠 that he longs for Crowley’s presence, knows that he’s disappointed that Crowley accepted his no so easily and resolved to sleeping the months away. Because that’s the thing— Crowley is always the one pushing. Never too far, of course, always backing off when Aziraphale shows real objection to something. But this time, Aziraphale 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛’𝑡 show real objection. This was like every time before.

He did what he had to do to keep up appearances. He did what he’d spent millennia doing— nudging Crowley just far enough away to appease any prying eyes. And for millennia, Crowley would nudge back, slithering his way into Aziraphale’s space, into his heart. But for the first time, well, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟, Crowley didn’t push back. He accepted Aziraphale’s nudge and backed off immediately and it’s been gnawing away at Aziraphale.

“Yes, well,” Crowley made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a word, “I was, ah—“ Aziraphale waits patiently for Crowley to finish, used to the slew of noises he makes as he thinks and wrestles with what to say. They’re so familiar to him, in fact, that just hearing them has his nerves easing a little bit. Finally, with a resigned sigh, Crowley starts to give Aziraphale an honest answer. “S’like you said, I go too fast.” A pause. Aziraphale feels his heart sinking. “So, m’trying to... go slower.”

Hearts are a funny thing, Aziraphale thinks fleetingly in the silence that follows. His body doesn’t technically need it, but it’s there and capable of breaking all the same. And hearing Crowley say that affords it every opportunity to shatter in his chest.

“That’s... what we do.” Aziraphale answers slowly after a moment. “I keep up appearances and you— you take me along with you.”

“When you say it like that,” Crowley clearly tries too hard to lighten the mood, the should-be joke landing a little flat. “It almost sounds romantic.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale admonishes on instinct, realizing belatedly that it’s exactly this instinct that has gotten him into this predicament in the first place. The world didn’t end, but their alliance to Heaven and Hell did. In truth, there’s no appearances 𝑡𝑜 keep up.

The only thing left between them now is the raw and real emotions that they’ve been tamping down for six thousand years. That ℎ𝑒 has been tamping down, because Crowley certainly hasn’t tried nearly as hard at keeping the feelings at bay. Aziraphale has always envied that. They both knew that the Arrangement was always just an excuse to spend time together and look out for each other. And now with that gone there’s— there’s no excuse, just the genuine desire to be in each other’s presences. It shouldn’t terrify Aziraphale, but it does.

A six thousand year routine is hard to break, after all.

But Aziraphale sees the situation for what it is finally and realizes that this time, perhaps for the first time, the decision is entirely up to him. After six thousand years, he gets to be the one to make the call.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says again, gentler this time. He takes a deep breath to steady his traitorous nerves. “Dear, I—“ Has it always been this hard to say something so simple?

“Angel,” Crowley cuts Aziraphale off, the usual edge of casual confidence back and Aziraphale exhales a shaky breath. “Just let me in, would you?”

Startled, Aziraphale leans to the side to see, sure enough, Crowley standing on the other side of the door.

Crowley sends him a crooked smile, holding up the bottle of wine in his hand and pulling his phone away from his ear. Aziraphale drops the receiver and heads to the door at once, opening it for the demon waiting on the other side.

“Since when do you wait for me to unlock the door?” Aziraphale asks as he steps aside.

Crowley strolls in with such familiar ease that Aziraphale feels like he’s tearing apart at the seams in the best way. “ ‘s more polite.”

Without waiting for further instruction, Crowley saunters to the back, dropping into a heap of angular limbs on Aziraphale’s setter and setting the wine down. And then it strikes Aziraphale— Crowley has spent six thousand years meeting him in the middle. He’s spent six thousand years getting to know Aziraphale, learning how to read his heart. He didn’t need actual words to know he was invited over, he just needed Aziraphale to take that first step.

“We understand each other that well?” Aziraphale asks as he follows Crowley.

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing,” Crowley grins, dropping his sunglasses alongside the wine and stretching out his long legs.

It’s not a bad thing, Aziraphale decides at once, this moment better than any moment of quarantine so far.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Aziraphale takes his usual seat, all the tension from earlier dissolving from his shoulders.

Crowley shoots him a smile. “Nowhere else I’d rather be, Angel.”


End file.
